Twelve Hour Turn Second Story
fresh ground, now depleted.a slight derail on broken
tracks
starting lines, record times, but who's to say whats the
finish line?
the cup is empty.
so let's move on into brief irony
and false autonomy
who knows what else
who knows what proceeds prior ink bleeds
i found my memory,
i remember the starting line
but there is a hole
is there a whole
an open wound with slow recovery
as i grow the scars get deeper
on this 'old soul'
who knows not where to go
and you running fast with the banner around your eyes
too blind to see the love that's in sight.
